Knowing You, Loving You, Finding Me
by Victorian Amour
Summary: Set afer Trail and Error. Joan is angry at God. God takes Joan away for her own good. What happens when Joan sees the Almighty as more than an assignment dispenser?
1. The Deity Argument

_A/N__: My first JoA Fanfic. It's romantic. No flaming. _

_Pairings__: Cute Boy/Goth God and Joan_

_Disclaimer__: I do not own in any way, shape, or form, any of the characters that I may use and/or make reference to in this story. I'm just borrowing them, and writing it for fun. So please, don't sue me! ^^_

_Amandolo, Conoscendolo, Trovandolo_

Chapter 1: The Deity Argument

The school's nurse covers Joan's hand with an opaque ointment and wraps it tight in gauze. She then places both tube and roll into her backpack. "Be sure to remove the gauze and reapply the ointment every three hours." She winks. "And be a bit more careful around Bunsen burners from now on." Joan thanks her, slips her backpack over her shoulder, shuts the door behind her, and starts down the hallway. So far, her day had been horrible. She'd woken up forty-five minutes late, rushed to school without eating breakfast, ran into Adam during first period which made her sick, ran into Bonnie fourth period then made a beeline for the bathroom to kick the stall and throw up, mouthed off to her French teacher and got called to the office, burned her hand in AP Chemistry, and to top it all off, she'd just accidentally bowled over one of the cheerleaders. _This day couldn't possibly get any worse,_ Joan thought. _But at least I haven't had a visit from-_ She stops a few paces away from her locker. "Oh, God..."

"Yes, Joan?" The voice belongs to God who is in his Cute Boy form- the only form that he takes that can make her blush._ But not today,_ she thinks. This is not a day for swooning. Ignoring Mr. Master of The Universe, she saunters to her locker a bit too quickly, raises her right hand out of habit and, _BAM!_ She hits the combination lock and hunches over_. Who knew a messed up hand could hurt so much?_

God winces at the sight. "That's a nasty burn," he said. "Do you mind if I help you out?"

Joan scoffs. He wanted to help? Oh, _now_ he wanted to help? "Cut the act. You're God!" she yells. "You can help if you want, but I know you. All you're going to do is make fun of me!" And she jabs her collarbone with her wrecked thumb. "Owww! Ow, ow, ow!" She glares at him. "This is all _your_ fault!" A few passerby stop and stare. Once again, Joan Girardi has made a complete fool of herself in the public eye. She bites her lip, lowering her gaze to the floor. God smiles at the kids reassuringly, takes Joan's elbow, and leads her outside where they sit under a tree.

God liked Joan. She was funny, smart, and honest above all else. Which was one reason he'd chosen her; she wouldn't do anything he told her to do just because he told her to do it. He liked how open she was with him about everything; although he had to admit, sometimes she could be a little mouthy. Still, he liked her. He takes the opportunity to speak while Joan cradles her hand. "Let's get a few things straight, Joan," he says in what Joan calls his "snippy" voice, "1: I don't like being spoken to in any way you choose. I have the same type of feelings as you. 2: You can't blame everything bad that happens to you on _me_. You have free will, you make choices that set off a chain of events and I can't do anything about it because I won't control you. And 3: I don't make fun of anyone; it's not in my character. I'm kind, and compassionate and gentle, but I am _not_, nor will I _ever_ be, insensitive. So I think you owe me an apology_._"

"Oh," Joan laughs, "I have to apologize to _you?_ Huh, well let's see; if that's the case, then you should apologize to me first!" She stands up and takes long strides away from the shade. God runs after her. "Joan, wait-"

"No! I'm not waiting; I'm not stopping. Not until you apologize!"

"For what, appearing to you? For helping you bring your grades up in school, making new friends, all of that?" He reaches her, placing a hand on her shoulder to stay her. "Joan, I did that for a reason!"

"Then tell me why!"

She whips around to face him. "Tell me," she says vehemently, "Why you chose me, of all the people in the world, to run your errands; tell me what makes _me_ so special, because I don't understand!"

"You don't have to understand," he says, trying to calm her, "You have faith in me. That's all that matters."

Joan throws her hands in the air, exasperated. "Oh, sure, faith explains it _all_! You know, that means nothing to me! Why," she demands, "Did you choose me?" God just shakes his head. Biting his lower lip, he grasps her elbow and pulls her in the direction of the park. "You want to know why I chose you, Joan," he says in between breaths. "You want to know why I would choose anyone to see me. Well Joan, I'll show you."

* * *

Luke Girardi is standing outside of Arcadia High. He's been waiting for his sister to come around with the car which should have happened fifteen minutes ago. Now he paces the courtyard wondering what is taking her so long. She has to get to work and he has a study group waiting for him at the library. _Joan, hurry up._ Ten minutes later and there is still no Joan. Another ten minutes pass and Luke starts to wonder if she's just left him there. He goes around the school building to the parking lot to see if the car is still there. He doesn't actually expect it to be there, and yet there it is.

_This is wrong._ Luke dashes to a pay phone and drops some change into the slot. He dials the Polanski's. Rabbi Polanski answers. "Yes, rabbi, this is Luke Girardi, Grace's boyfriend."

"Oh yes," the rabbi says, "The young scientist. Do you want to talk to Grace?"

"Yes sir." He hears the rabbi call his daughter. In a few seconds Grace is on the other line. "Hey Geek," she says. "What's up?"

"Grace, don't ask why yet, but did you see Joan leave school?"

"I saw her leave with some pop culture meathead. Why, and what's with the panic?" Luke relates the last thirty-five minutes to her, ending with, "Do you think that guy could have… kidnapped her?"

"Whoa, Brain Boy, get a hold of yourself. Who would be stupid kidnap your sister in broad daylight? School security's as tight as a knot." Luke has no idea, but something doesn't feel right. "It's not like Joan to just leave without telling anyone."

"Dude," Grace says, "Everyone is entitled to privacy, I don't care who it is. Maybe Joan's dating again and she doesn't want Rove to find out or something."

"That doesn't explain why she didn't tell me she was leaving." Luke sighs. "I'm worried about my sister, Grace."

"Okay dude, stay there. My dad and I will come pick you up. In the meantime, call your parents and tell them what's up. It's only been thirty minutes so they couldn't have gotten far... not like I think something's wrong." Luke thanks her, hangs up the pay phone and drops in more change. "Not even four o'clock yet, and things are already exciting."

* * *

As they get closer to the park, Joan notices that the sidewalk and streetlights are disappearing. In their place are trees; rows upon rows upon rows of fruit, pine, and oak trees. Then the playground vanishes and in its place is a shimmering blue lake about 35 yards wide, surrounded by cattails and water lilies. What really sticks out is the house if it can even be called that; it is four stories high and several yards wide. There are immaculate gardens full of a hodgepodge of different flower varieties and bushes. Poplars line the stone walkway that lead to a pristine wrap-around porch. The backyard is fenced off from the front. The house itself is painted a pale green with cream trim. Joan notices all of this in only a few minutes because God is still pulling her by the elbow, as gentle as ever, towards the large house. "That's mine," he said. "I made it for those who need a break from the world I created." Joan tries to comprehend what he is saying. "This is what lies beyond the world you can see, Joan. This is my world. Your world, if you choose to claim it. A place where you can rest and your strength will be renewed by me." He releases her elbow and looks at her. His face betrays His feelings.

Most of the time, Joan forgets that he really is carrying the weight of the universe on his shoulders. When she speaks, her voice quivers. "Sometimes I forget that you really are in charge of... everything. I guess I take the fact that you appear to me for granted. I lash out at you when things don't go the way I want them to, and that means I'm adding to the weight you already carry. I'd never thought about it before." She crosses her arms over her chest and sticks her bottom lip out slightly. "I'm sorry...for everything."

"I forgive you, Joan," he says. "But don't worry about me. In truth, I've already won. I won the battle over two thousand years ago. But I still have to woo people's hearts after all this time... and sometimes I get lonely. More than that, I want to show my love to everyone, but they don't hear me, or they don't see me, or they do see and hear but they don't understand the significance of what they're experiencing." He sits in the grass. "That's why I chose to show myself to you, Joan. I want you to experience the love that you'd miss out on otherwise." A bird chirps in the distance. "I want you to spend some time with me. Get to know me a bit, know my heart. Once you've done that, you'll be ready to face the challenges that are waiting for you."

* * *

"Dude, Jane's missing?" Adam takes off his insulated welding gloves and mask. There is a smudge of something dark, maybe grease, on his cheek. He is frazzled, Grace can tell. Not too many people know him as well as she does. Not that she's proud of the fact. "Yes," she says, "We think so. Girardi and his dad are on the way. Joan's mom went back to the school to talk to Price. Kevin is checking around the bookstore, and the ex-nun and priest have been pulled into it. We'll find her, don't worry."

"How can I not worry, yo? It's Jane. She's gone! How am I supposed to act, like nothing's wrong? Grace, I can't do that!"

Grace grabs him by the shoulders. "Get a grip, Rove. Don't become an emotional psycho maniac like the rest of these brainless, lovesick zombies at school. Listen: you and Joan aren't together anymore. Get over it. She's your friend, right?" He nods dumbly. "Good, then as her friend, I suggest you have a healthy dose of concern. Who knows, she might turn up again before the day is over."

"Yeah, Grace. You're probably right." He takes a few deep breaths. "You can go in the house, I'll be there. I need a few minutes." As Grace closes the door to the garage, Adam finds himself leaning against a wall. He takes in a breath and holds it. _Think rationally,_ he tells his self. What in the world could explain this? Thinking back, he remembers when he and Joan had started dating. She'd confided in him that God, of all people, showed Himself to her and gave her assignments. He remembers her saying that she didn't quite understand why she did what He wanted her to do, but things always turned out right in the end if she did.

_God._ But no, it couldn't be. God wouldn't take Joan away, would he? What if he had? That would explain... "I have to tell Grace." He starts for the door, and then stops short. Would Grace believe him? No, she'd think he'd flipped his wig or something. God, talking to Joan? She'd say that's as impossible as Hitler following the Ten Commandments. Back to square one. It looked like Adam would have to let everyone else run around until he was sure they would listen.

* * *

Helen Girardi saunters through the hallway, bumping into students and teachers like they are pieces of furniture instead of humans. She is fuming from what Luke told her just moments ago. _First Kevin, now Joan. Who's next? _She turns into another hallway. _Why would God let this happen? Are you bent on causing me and my family even more pain? _She hadn't been having any dreams lately. If she had, she would've known about this. As things went, all the blame went straight to God; someone had to be blamed.

She turns another corridor, walks past the front desk and smashes the vice-principal's door open. "Price!" she growls. "Where is she?" Vice-principal Price jumps at Helen's noisy arrival. "Helen," he says calmly, "Where is who?"

"Don't you play games with me, Price," Helen warns. "I want to know where she is, and I want to know _now_." Any fool, including Price, would be able to tell that Helen Girardi was past her boiling point; the woman was livid. "Easy, Helen, just take it easy." He motions for her to take a seat, which she declines. He resumes his posture at his desk with hands folded. "Now," he says, "Let's just be rational here. You tell me what you want to know, and I'll answer as best as I can."

Helen blows out a puff of air. "Mr. Price," she says calmly, "Did you see my daughter leave the grounds today?"

"I happened to be outside when she left, yes."

"Okay, was she with someone? Did she seem okay to you...?"

He thinks for a bit. "Come to think of it, she was with a young man. I didn't recognize him as a student here-"

"My daughter was talking with some guy that you didn't recognize?"

"I know all of the students here-"

"Uh-huh. So he doesn't go to school here?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"Well what did it look like they were doing?"

Price clears his throat. "They seemed to be having an argument of some sort, a heated debate, if you will. I was going to intervene and lecture Ms. Girardi on proper decorum while on school grounds when she walked off and this young man ran after her. She yelled at him, he yelled back, took her by the elbow, and dragged her off somewhere."

"What did they say?" Helen listens intently while Price reiterates what he'd heard. "'You should apologize to me first,' Joan says. The young man seems to tell her to wait and she lashes out with, "not until you apologize!' The young man says something about appearing to her, helping her with school, with friends; he says he did it for a reason..." Price stops. "What did he mean?"

"What do you mean," Helen asks.

"'For appearing to you,' is what he said but what sense does that make? People don't just appear to other people out of the blue."

"That doesn't matter. Which way did he pull her after that?"

"Towards the municipal park... I don't know Helen, doesn't that sound-"

"Thanks, Price," Helen says. She leaves the room feeling even more confused than she had been in the first place. What's all this about appearing and helping with school and whatnot when the kid didn't even go to Arcadia High?

_I know a rat when I smell one._ She takes out her cell phone and dials her husband. She gets his machine. "Will, it's Helen. Listen; get your boys down to the park. We think Joan went that way. I'll meet you there. Love you, bye."

* * *

Joan willingly lets God lead her past the threshold of the house. "Looks a lot bigger than it did when we were outside, huh Joan?" He smiles, partly smirking, partly genuine. She nods, too astonished to speak.

Stepping past the threshold, Joan is greeted with a sweet, floral scent; strong and airy, not overpowering...rejuvenating, she thought. The floors were a honey-colored wood. On her left is a carpeted corridor; on her right, a stair case; and to the front is another corridor, wood paneled, lined with golden doors. She guesses the double swinging doors on the right lead to the kitchen, the pair across the hall lead to a dining area, and all the other doors are rooms of some sort.

"You're right, Joan. Nice guessing skills." He releases her elbow. "Your room is down the left corridor, on the right hand side."

"Um...thanks." She offers him her wrapped hand. He touches it lightly. "Joan," he says, "Let me take care of this for you." He takes her left hand and leads her into the kitchen.

It is immaculate. The floors are the same honey wood as the hallways and foyer; there are large windows to let the sun in; a small set of double doors leads to a pantry, fully stocked. A kitchenette set on the far side of the room sits next to a window, an island in the middle of the room is surrounded by stools; there is a stainless steel refrigerator, marble countertops, matching cabinets, and a double sink that looks like it's made of pure silver. Joan's eyes are beginning to hurt from looking at so much brilliance.

She takes up a stool and watches as God reaches into the fridge and pulls out a small porcelain bowl. Inside of it is some kind of clear gel. It reminds Joan of worm sludge, or slug slime. "What is that?" Instead of replying, He reaches back into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of milk and another bowl, both of which he places on the counter in front of her. Taking up the stool next to her, He carefully undresses her hand. Joan's skin crawls at the sight; her fingers, curled in pain, her skin red and blistered. It hurts really badly without the gauze, but He is very gentle, straightening each finger and slowly setting it in the empty bowl. Joan watches as he unscrews the cap on the milk jar. "Whoa, that's going over my hand? Why don't you just use ice?"

He responds without turning to look at her.

"Water is a natural quencher, used to put out things like fires. Milk, on the other hand, is a natural moisturizer and burn aid. Your skin will start to heal after a few soaks in this. And the stuff in the bowl is aloe gel. It works the same as milk, but it sticks around longer. It also prevents scarring."

"You really do know everything, don't you?"

He smiles. "Of course I do. I made everything, after all. I should know how these things work." He glances at her. "For instance, I know all about you, Joan: your past, your present, your future…." He takes some of the aloe and rubs it in a thick layer over the rough skin. "I made you. And I'm happy with my work."

As He wraps her hand again, Joan realizes how odd this whole thing is. Here she is with the Master of the Universe Himself, the Supreme Deity who knows everything there is to know about her and more... and she knows next to nothing about Him.

"Is this my assignment," she asks. "Because I feel like I don't even know you."

He concentrates on pinning the gauze together. "That's because you don't. You will eventually get to know me.

"Remember what I said on day one: I'm beyond your experience, Joan. I don't look or sound or even feel like anything you'd recognize. I'm truly magnificent, and if you were to see me as I am, your heart would fail."

"Yikes."

"For you, yes, it would be frightening. But this theophany thing I thought up is working just fine, don't you think?" Joan arches an eyebrow at him. He chuckles. "Never mind; I'll put this stuff away. Why don't you lie down for a while, Joan? You've had a rough day."

Taking that as her cue to leave, Joan takes a leisurely barefoot walk down the plush corridor. She opens the door that is her designated bedroom and is pleased: green, white, gray, and black. God knew her tastes. Next to the western window is a huge four-poster bed with a green wrap-around canopy. She does a running jump and flops on the mattress. In a few minutes, Joan is lost in a dream world.

_Okay, so it's been a while since I had an account, and I'd really, really, REALLY like to know what you all think, so please review! ^^ Thank you very much._


	2. Dependence

Chapter 2: Dependence

"Why didn't she come to us?" Grace paces the Rove's living room, which isn't normal for Grace.

Grace Polk is the living definition of _insensitive._

Armageddon could be raging outside of her bedroom window and she wouldn't do as much as flinch. She could have open heart surgery without anesthesia and you'd never see a more nonchalant face. As a matter of fact, early on in their friendship, Joan had secretly thought of Grace as some kind of vampire: no emotions, no reflection... But that's another story. The point is that Grace Polk is actually worried about her boyfriend's sister... her best friend. The emotions are very conflicting; hence the pacing and mumbling.

"If she was in trouble," Grace says, "she should've called for help. But no, she had to be little miss 'I'm strong, I can take care of myself"! Didn't I teach her better? I mean, dude, you're a woman, you're strong, but you still need help every once in a while! Am I wrong Rove?"

Adam is in a corner, scarfing down a Twix bar.

"Dude, you're no help."

He swallows a bite. "Look, Grace, maybe you're right and Jane was in trouble and she just wanted to prove how independent she was, but that's not Jane. Maybe she actually knows this guy, and trusts him enough to let him drag her off somewhere. You know, maybe she's safe." He resumes his chewing. "You've got to get a grip, yo."

Grace flops on the empty couch, pouting. "I can't get a grip. She's my best friend next to her brother. It's natural that I'm worried. ...It _is_ natural, right?"

"Grace," Adam says, "Just, let Chief Girardi take care of this, okay?"

Grace shifts in her seat. "How can you be so calm, dude? It's Joan, okay; Joan, who you loved when you met her, who helped you out all those times you were feeling down, who wasn't afraid to tell you when you were acting like a pig to your face. She's _missing_, Rove. I don't get it. How do you do it?"

Adam just shrugs without a reply. He wants to say that he knows for certain that Joan is okay, but then Grace would ask how, and... he isn't ready to say. _Just take care of her, okay?_

* * *

The huge door to Joan's room creaks on its hinges. God walks over to her bed and sees that the canopy is drawn. "Joan," he whispers, "Wake up."

_Go away and let me sleep,_ she thinks.

"I can't do that. It's late; you have to eat something."

Behind the canopy, Joan slowly lifts her head from the large down pillow. "Can't you eat for me," she asks groggily. A hand parts the fabric just a bit so she can see his face. He's smirking as usual. "It doesn't work that way, princess. Get up." She turns her back to him. "Joan, I'm warning you; don't make me come in after you."

"What are you going to do," she asks. "Tickle me into submission?"

Instead of responding, he takes off his shoes and crawls in next to her. Wraps one arm around her waist and uses the other to stroke her hair. Joan turns her head to glare at him. "You're two and a half inches too close, buddy. Move over some."

"I'm omnipresent, Joan. I'm always around you. Why is this any different?" She doesn't respond. Bites her tongue. "Look at me, Joan." He touches her cheek. Joan feel herself get an instant fever... or she's blushing really, really badly.

"Try the second, Joan," he says, laughing. "You look so cute." He taps her nose with his forefinger.

"Augh!" She crawls under the blankets. "Stop that! You know it's not funny! As if God thinks I'm cu...cu-cu-cu...whatever!" She feels him move closer. "Joan," he says, "I understand if this makes you uncomfortable, but I'm trying to get a point across." When she doesn't say anything, he climbs out of the bed and puts his shoes back on. "Fine; I'm going to get a burger. I was going to treat you to one, but since you don't want to talk..." He laughs to himself as Joan throws the blankets back and jumps off of the bed. "That's more like it," he exclaims. He walks over to her. "You don't mind," he asks, glancing at her hand. Glad that she shakes her head no, he takes her hand, considers lifting it to his lips but decides against it, and walks with her out of the house.

A fifteen minute walk from the house brings them to a paved path about four feet wide. She doesn't have a problem being led, but being so close to him is a bit... well, like he'd said earlier, uncomfortable. But at the same time – and Joan is slightly confused by this – she enjoys it. There's something really sweet about the way he always wants to be around her, how he keeps such a close eye on her. She feels safe...loved, even. At any rate, this isn't something to complain about. So to make the most of this opportunity, she decides to just talk to him.

"So...what was Your point?"

"Hmm?"

"You said there was a method to Your madness back there, or so to speak. What was it?"

He smirks and for the first time that day, Joan doesn't feel like slapping him. "My point," he says, "is this: I'm everywhere, Joan, even in places you wouldn't expect to find me. I don't have to be everywhere. I could've just made humankind and left you on your own. But that wouldn't be very loving, would it?"

"I guess not."

They walk in silence for a while. God gives Joan some time to grasp what he'd just said before continuing.

"What I want you to understand," he says, "Is that no matter where you go or what you're doing, whether it's bad or good, I'm there. I see and know everything. So really, there is no such thing as 'space'. In reality, I am 'space'."

Joan nods. "So you're saying that I have no personal space?"

"Nope, I'm right there with you. There's nothing you can hide from me, Joan." He's laughing; she can see it in his eyes.

"You know, I don't like this conversation all of a sudden." Joan says. "I can't have secrets?"

He laughs. "You've known that for a while now, Joan. But since you asked, no; nothing is secret from me. Sorry to burst your bubble." He squeezes her hand and smiles. Joan can feel that heat creeping up her face again. _This is going to be a long week. _

Joan loses track of how long they'd been walking. Before her eyes, the path and woods vanish and they are standing outside of Don's House of Angus, otherwise known as The Carlucci's. It was a popular burger place, especially for the kids at Arcadia High and the faculty. The last time Joan had walked through these doors, she'd been with Adam, discussing colleges. Well now, she and Adam were history, and this time she walks in hand in hand with God himself. The contrast is startling. So startling that she pulls her hand away. God looks at her with a raised eyebrow and that pervasive grin on his face, shaking his head and chuckling as he veers towards the counter.

For the thousandth time that day, Joan realizes just how odd this whole situation is. She's basically living with God for the rest of the week. That thought doesn't bother her as much as realizing that he didn't plan on- or it doesn't seem like he plans on- changing forms: he'll remain in this "Cute boy" state for her sake; she relates to him easily when he looks like this. But he's also way too cute... Joan bites her tongue hard enough to draw blood. _Now swallow! _she tells herself. _Swallow, you sub-defective!_ All she manages to do is make herself choke. She glances around to make sure no one notices and, once reassured, proceeds to take a seat in a corner booth just big enough for two people. What was going on with her? She could not have these...feelings, for God! She'd told herself that on day one, but did her hormones really want to listen? No, they didn't; so Joan had put up with it. Gratefully, he hadn't used this form often, but now that he was, things were…changing, is the only way Joan can think of it. She leans over on the table with arms extended and stays that way. _Why me?_ She asks. She looks up at God standing in line. He looks back at her, head cocked and grinning. Of course he wouldn't answer the "why". Letting her head hit the table again, she groans.

* * *

After placing their order at the counter, God slowly meanders his way through the crowd towards Joan. She's beating her self up again; he can hear it. She didn't have to do that. The whole purpose behind this week was for them to bond, so bond they would. He sat in the space next to her, covering her hand with his own. "Cut it out, Joan. You're scaring the other customers, and you're supposed to be enjoying yourself." She lifts her head, hair falling in front of her face. She's listening, so he continued. "But if you don't, you're just going to hinder yourself from experiencing some wonderful things." He brushed the hair from her face and looks into those warm brown eyes. Yes, he did very good work. Wanting to reassure her, he leans over and lightly pecks her cheek. Immediately Joan stiffens. "What...was...that?" she says in a hiss.

God couldn't help but giggle. "It's called a kiss Joan, since you asked." He wiped a tear from his eye. "What, you don't like it? I'll stop if you don't."

Joan blushed and turned her gaze to the floor. "No," she said quietly. Her outlook had changed instantly; he was being nice. "Since when did you start doing that to me?"

He placed an arm around her to keep her from moving away. "I've always wanted to do that." He lifted her face to his. "Does it bother you," he asked a bit softer.

Joan hesitated. "...no, it doesn't really." She nestled in next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "It's just that the only person who's ever kissed me outside of my family was Adam and we both know he won't be doing that anymore. I haven't been kissed since then, so having you do that was kind of..."

"Shocking," he finished for her.

Joan nodded. "But you don't have to, you know, not do that for my sake. I really don't mind." Tears started falling.

He didn't say anything, but pulled her closer, enjoying the warmth.

Joan was special. Not his favorite, but special. Not many people noticed him like she did; not many people knew him like she knew him. _I'm glad I chose her._ He rubbed her back as she cried. She was still hurting a month after the break-up. She needed him more than she knew. So he would be there to help her. He would be there to depend on; he just had to show her how. _Dependence is really all about love, Joan. _He took a napkin and gently wiped the tears from her face. _Depend on me if you really love me._

Somehow she hears him. When she opens her eyes to look around she can't see anyone. It's like they're the only tw

* * *

o people in the building; he's warm and comfortable, and after a while she stops crying. Depend, he'd said. _Depend on me._ Joan lifts her face to look at him. Her mouth falls open slightly at what she sees: he's glowing, not like how the sun shines right behind something and casts radiance; this glow comes from within him, and covers her and the booth where they sat with its warmth. She sees God smile at her; feels him kiss the crown of her head. A tingling sensation runs down her spine; she closes her eyes, savoring it and finally letting her head rest on his chest. She grips his shirt, breathing its scent: floral like the house. She hears him speak but doesn't see his mouth move. _Joan, I want you to depend on me more. I want to help you, but there's only so much I can do without your consent. I love you Joan, I really do, so would you please show me your love and just depend on me?_ Yes, she decides. She wants to see more, feel more, and be better for it.

As she sits up, the glow leaves his face and their surroundings. They're back in Carlucci's, sitting at the booth, waiting for their food.

Joan isn't all that hungry anymore.


	3. Greg

Chapter 3: Greg

Adam and Grace walk into Carlucci's. "Dude," Grace says, "This place gives me hives."

"Chill, Grace" says Adam. "They're good people and the food is even better."

"That's not the point. Look at history, Rove; Pilate and Jesus, Nero and Peter, Caesar and Paul. Jews and Italians don't get along."

"What about Jane's family?"

She waves her hand dismissively. "The Girardi's are a different bunch, though."

"Unchallenged."

"Whatever. I'll order food, you get us a seat."

Adam nods and walks in the opposite direction. His thoughts drift to Joan. So far, a few kids from the school had been called into the office to give a description of the alleged kidnapper, or repeat bits and pieces of the overheard conversation. Chief Girardi was especially stressed, Mrs. Girardi had gone from a raging lion to a sobbing woman in one fell swoop, Luke had locked himself in his bedroom doing research and Kevin, Lily and Father Ken were still scouting the area. Unfortunately, thanks to Police policy, the force couldn't actually search for Joan until she'd been missing for twenty-four hours. The only person who isn't troubled is Adam. As he runs through all of this in his mind, he looks around...and sees Joan sitting next to a boy in a tan corduroy jacket. They are eating and chatting in a friendly manner.

Adam stands immobile, his mouth hanging open slightly. "J...Jane..." He walks over to their booth. "Jane!" She sees him and stiffens. "You're all right…" He looks at God. "Hi," he says speculatively. God nods. They move over to give Adam room to sit.

"Well," God said, "Joan, is this a friend of yours?"

Joan sighs, turning her face towards him, deliberately ignoring Adam. "Maybe you should go...do something..." she suggests. He walks away, leaving the ex-lovers alone.

They sit there quietly. Joan breaks the silence. "So…" she says. "I guess everybody's panicked, huh?" Adam nods. "I thought so."

"Jane," Adam says softly, reaching for her hand. She quickly pulls it back into her lap. "I was worried about you."

"Don't you have more important things to worry about," she asks in a bitter whisper. "Like your sex life with Bonnie?"

"Jane, I…" Adam shakes his head, grieved by Joan's open hostility towards him. If he could take it back, he would; but it was too late for maybes. His pride bruised once again, he turns his gaze to his lap, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

God comes back to the table. "Sorry to interrupt," he says with a sympathetic glance at Adam. "Ready to go, Joan?"

"Yeah." She slides out from the booth without so much as a wave at Adam, and walks away.

Adam watches as they leave. Grace sits down next to him. "You alright, dude?" Adam leans back in his seat. "I was," he says, forlorn.

Grace claps him on the back. "You'll be fine."

* * *

Later that evening as Joan prepares for bed, God comes to her room. She'd thought about him while she brushed her hair and changed her clothes. She's just beginning to realize what he'd meant when he said he was beyond her experience. When she thought about what happened at Carlucci's, her mind was totally overwhelmed. She'd wanted to ask him about it but the timing hadn't been right. So as he approaches her while she sits at the vanity, Joan summons her courage. "At the restaurant..."

"You saw a tiny bit of what I really am, Joan. Were you excited?"

"Yeah, and scared, all at the same time. Why did you show that to me?"

He looks toward the huge bed on the west wall. "Why don't we sit down for a second?" So they cross the room and sit on the edge of Joan's bed in between the panels of the canopy. Joan tucks her feet underneath herself. "I'm ready." He stares at the far wall, then back at her. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. Joan smiles back.

"There is a canopy- so to speak- that divides your world from mine. It's so heavy that you can't see through it. Sometimes, I'll lift up its corners or pull part of it back with my hand; that's when you get glimpses of who I am and what I want for you. Sometimes what you see can be amazing, and at others, it will frighten you." He lifts his legs onto the comforter and lays back on his hands.

"I pulled it back for you today. I wanted to show you just a part of who I really am so that you can begin to comprehend what I'm about: building up, loving, caring… for you." He takes her hand in his and kisses it softly. "I wanted you to see the real me, Joan. To understand that this," he points to himself, "is not me; this body cannot possibly contain everything that I am. But because I love you, I choose for you to see me like this."

They lay there for a while; Joan's eyelids eventually drop and her breathing becomes soft and even. God sits up, pulls back the blankets and lifts her in his arms, sets her down and covers her up. He leans over her, brushes back her bangs and lightly kisses her forehead. "Good night, Joan." He walks out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Helen and Will slump on the living room couch. It had been a long, tiring, chaotic day. They were beginning to worry that the next few days would be just like it. Helen had tried to pour her frustration into her art but that failed; Will busied himself with checking unnecessary paperwork to hide his worry. The contradicting fact that he was police chief and couldn't do anything about the 24 hour wait was wearing on him. Eventually, neither of them could take playing "pretend" anymore, so they decided to come together and talk it out.

* * *

Helen sighs. "I honestly haven't been this worried since the night of Kevin's accident," she whispers.

Will takes her hand. "I take it you're as troubled as I am," he asks. She nods. They fall silent.

"I was walking to Price's office after I got the call from Luke," Helen says. "I was...so scared and angry, and objectionable. I was thinking, 'There's no way Joan would have left without telling me. There's no way she's missing. She's my daughter, I know her.' I was in complete denial. Then Price said he saw some guy drag her away and I..." Her voice cracks and she swallows a sob. "...I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to yell and tell him that it wasn't Joan he'd seen; it was some other girl...some other woman's daughter, but that wouldn't have been right. And when I left I was blaming God, and I blamed him on the way out of parking lot and on the way home... We've been through so much already; I just want to know why..." She begins to cry. "What could he be thinking, Will? I don't where my daughter is and I'm scared..."

Will takes her in his arms and lets her cry. "Helen," he says, "I don't care about religion, but if you really believe in God... start believing he'll bring Joan home." He kisses her head. "Okay," she says softly. "Joan will be okay, honey. Everything will be okay."

The fire in the hearth goes out and they are left sitting in the dark.

* * *

Joan walks down a hallway in Arcadia High; it looks as though she's the only person there. She takes a few steps just to make sure; no, no one else is here.

Silence hangs like a heavy curtain all around her; it's almost too quiet. Yet for some strange reason, she doesn't want to make a sound.

She resumes walking, taking her time to look around corners and in classrooms. There's homeroom, and French; she passes AP Chemistry, then the pool. As she passes the teacher's lounge a sound catches her attention: a little trill. _Is that...laughter?_ Joan is still for a few seconds and listens closer. Yes, people are laughing in the teacher's lounge. But who would be in there, and why are they shrieking like that? Joan opens the door to get a peek and her vision is instantly flooded with light and color. She's looking at a grassy hill; a mass of grassy, rolling hills. Then she hears a voice. "Look at me, Joan!"

"Oh my god! Rocky!" It's Rocky, the six year-old boy who'd been obsessed with statistics of death. He didn't look so old and somber here, wherever here was; he looked like any other kid his age. He smiles up at her. "Watch me, Joan!" Rocky runs around in a wide circle, skipping and jumping when he feels like it. "I can run, see?"

"Rocky, that's amazing!" He trips. "Oh, be careful," Joan says. He stands right back up. "I'm okay," he says, and speeds away.

Tears prick Joan's eyes. Rocky, little Rocky who could rarely leave his room when he was alive was running past the first hill, past the second... so far that Joan had to strain her eyes to see the small moving dot. She sniffs. Her heart is too happy to cry.

Joan spins around when something touches her shoulder. She's confused for a second; then, "Judith!" she squeals, throwing her arms tight around her best friend. Judith had been part of a drug deal the night of Joan and Adam's first real date. She'd ended up getting stabbed in the chest and several other places that night multiple times and was rushed to the emergency room when the police got wind of it. She hadn't made it.

For Joan, seeing Judith stand here with that smile of hers brings a mixture of sadness and joy that comes out in a heart wrenching sob. "Judith," she chokes, "I miss you. I miss you so much."

"I know, Jojo." Judith rubs her friend's back to comfort her. "I miss you, too." Afterwards, when Joan has calmed down, Judith traipses around with Rocky at her side, walking in and out of lockers, making Joan laugh. She plays with them for a long time. Then she wakes up.

There's God, lying next to her on his back, smiling. Joan figures she must have been laughing in her sleep. "Right again, Joan." He turns over onto his stomach. "Did you have a nice dream?"

Joan sits up under the covers. "Was that a dream? It felt so real."

"Most dreams are real, Joan. It takes sensitivity to know what's real and what's not when you're dreaming." He sits up and places an arm around her. "I opened the curtain for you again. Did you enjoy it?"

Joan nods emphatically. "You're incredible! And that was amazing; Judith looks fantastic, happier than I've ever seen her! And Rocky...sweet Rocky; he looked like a normal kid." She smiles a slightly cheerless smile.

"Rocky _is_ a normal kid, Joan. He always has been; he just had to face things that some children never have to deal with at his age." He pulls her close and pecks her cheek. "You can be just as happy as those two are. I want you to be."

"Yeah, but you're not going to tell me how."

He shakes his head, gives her a squeeze. "Breakfast will be ready in half an hour."

Will Girardi walks into the precinct at 7:20 AM. "Lieutenant Dagwood," he says, "What have we got so far?" Dagwood, who is munching on a cliff bar, motions to his desk; it's empty except for a composite drawing of a young man about 17 years of age with curly dark hair and a corduroy jacket. The police were stumped; the guy was wearing corduroy in the middle of spring. He shouldn't be that hard to find. It was like he'd vanished off the face of the earth along with Joan.

"We can't find him anywhere, chief," Dagwood says around bites.

Will walks away; "Well keep looking." He kicks his desk a few times in anger. Then he shuts the door, covers his eyes, and sighs. He had to find Joan.

When Joan walks into the kitchen she is greeted by the sound of a chopping knife. God, who is now in his Goth Kid form, is cutting a melon rind and throwing it into a paper bag. _It's probably going to be used as compost later._ Joan sits at the kitchenette with dazzled eyes. "Did you make this," she asks, ogling the spread before her.

"Blueberry waffles with unsalted butter and butter-flavored maple syrup, two links of sausage, and chopped up cantaloupe melon sprinkled with a bit of salt and powdered sugar." He wipes his hands on a dish towel before sitting across from her. "Your favorite breakfast, made from scratch."

"I haven't had this since my first day of high school," Joan says as she pops a chunk of melon into her mouth. "Thanks."

"It's my pleasure, Joan."

She eyes him for a few seconds. "What's the catch?".

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"You did. Hold on, let me get my breakfast." He goes to the cabinet and pulls out a bag of dried fruit, nuts, seeds, and mini marshmallows. "There's nothing like trail mix and a glass of orange juice to start the day," he says as he throws a marshmallow into his mouth.

"Hello," Joan calls, "Sitting right here; aren't you going to answer my question? And quit using your hands to eat! That's gross."

"To you," he replies, chewing a piece of fruit. "To others, hands are multi-purpose tools. I'd know: I created them. And to answer your question, I'm going to school with you."

Joan stops chewing. "...going to school with me, as in following me around?"

"Yes," he says, "And lugging books, garnering homework assignments, socializing... all for the sake of our bonding, Joan." He turns the chair around backwards, straddling it. "That's what this week is all about. You're getting to know me better, and I'm getting to know you."

"But you know everything there is to know about me; you're God."

"That's true and you've stated it before, but this will be fun." He taps her nose. "For your sake, I'll put a limit on myself and act as though I know very little about you; like we just met. That'll make us even."

Joan finishes her food. "But I thought the whole 'bonding' thing was centered on this house. I thought we'd stay here for the whole week."

"Sure; that's why I took you to Carlucci's yesterday, because we're bonding here only." He shakes his head, laughing. "There's a container for your cantaloupe in the fridge. We're leaving in ten minutes." He pecks her cheek and starts to stroll away. Joan grabs hold of his shirt from behind. "Wait." He stops, turns around, and stoops in front of her. "Yes, Joan?"

She takes a deep breath. "Is... is it okay for me to... kiss you back, because I want to - I'd like to, if it's not against any rules."

God smiles. "No, it's fine. Go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

He laughs. "Joan, the golden rule for humans is to treat others the way you want to be treated. If I give you a quick peck now and then, it's because I would like for you to be comfortable enough to do the same to me. But if you don't, I might just-" Joan stands up and plants a kiss on his forehead.

Now after a certain amount of time a peck is no longer a peck and she was now exceeding that time slot... but she doesn't care that her lips are pressed against his skin. It's so soft and he smells like leather and aftershave, and he's warm, or she's warm... it didn't matter. When about twenty seconds have passed, Joan pulls back and looks into his eyes; his warm, brown eyes set in a beautiful face. They glisten, almost like they're laughing. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He reaches up and brushes a finger along her cheek bone which sends a wave of heat down her spine. Then he stands, brushing the seat of his pants off. "We should probably leave now," he says quietly. Joan nods. "I have to get my knapsack." She looks back once, smiles, and walks through the swinging doors.

* * *

He'd known that she'd eventually ask to kiss him, which she had. He'd known he'd say yes, which he had. And he'd known that as they walked to school, it would be one of the few things on his mind as far as the Joan Girardi thread ran, which it was. So why was he so jittery? So what; a kiss on the forehead was no big deal. But how many people had even thought to kiss him in over 2,000 years? Yes, he thought, he was allowed to feel just a bit excited since that was the case. As he walks up the steps to Arcadia High, his eyes follow Joan; her gait, the swing of her arms, her hair flowing to the side with each step... perfectly beautiful as she should be. He wanted to run up next to her and lace his fingers through hers, but that wouldn't do; they were supposed to be new friends, so he should act like they were. Unless she decided differently, in which case he wouldn't mind holding her hand or bumping her shoulder affectionately from time to time.

There was another person to consider here, and that was Adam. Adam, while he didn't have any problems with God, might have problems with God holding Joan's hand and making little quips about her looks when she caught an attitude. So he had to be careful. One slip up and Rove would undoubtedly fall back into the silent treatment. So as things were, it was better to follow the "keep your hands to yourself" rule. _Good call. _

The hallway is already bustling with kids trying to get their books ready for classes, saying hi or bye to boyfriends and girlfriends, and heading for the main desk to pick up pink slips to give to their teachers. Joan is headed for the latter. She pulls God along with her. "You have some explaining to do to my mom, you know." She winks and he chuckles. _Looks like she's taking a different approach._

* * *

Helen is organizing Price's files while Marlene works the front desk. Part of Marlene's job is to hand out tardy slips to late students, but she never complains about the small task. She always thought God had made her that way. She was one of those people who wouldn't be able to spot God against the broad side of a barn, and now was no exception. God smiles at her insensitive reaction. She looks up and sees a freaky Goth kid being dragged along by Joan Girardi to the front desk. _Oh, that's nice,_ she thinks. _Joan's back._ She looks back down at the pink pad of paper. Looks back up... "Helen," she says in her Hispanic accent, "someone is here to see you."

Helen, who almost jumps out of her skin, runs around the desk to wrap her daughter in a bear hug. "Oh my god," she sobs. "My baby's back, my baby..."

Joan just smiles and allows her mom to cry for a while. Then she steps back. "We want to talk to you," she says, motioning to the Goth kid. Helen sniffs. "Sure," she says. "Let's go into the lounge." They follow Helen and sit on newly polished leather couches that face each other. Helen looks from one teen to the other. "So," she says after a few quiet seconds, "What's going on? Was yesterday some kind of test or a bad joke or... what?" Joan and the kid look first at each other, and then back at Helen.

"You guys aren't... you know..." Helen asks.

"Ew, mom," Joan shudders. "No, no way. He...and I... we would never... we can't." She chuckles nervously. "You don't have to worry about that." She crosses her arms.

"Then what's going on here," Helen asks. Joan looks at the Goth again. He speaks up this time. "I'm the one who took Joan yesterday. We had a dispute, and my patience ran a little thin..."

Helen shoots a questioning look at Joan, who looks at her. "He's telling the truth," she says.

"Well," Helen says, "I understand that emotions can run high from time to time, but that's no excuse to drag her off of school property."

"I had to," the Goth explains gently. "It was priority."

"Why?"

He looks at her, eye to eye. "Helen, could you blink for me?"

"Excuse me?"

Joan jumps in with him. "Please, mom?"

So she does. She has no idea why, but she does. When she opens her eyes there is a handsome young man sitting next to Joan - the same young man from the composite drawings she'd seen. Right down to the tan corduroy jacket. _"Am I hallucinating?"_ she wonders. She blinks again, and there's the Goth. A chill runs down her spine. "...what's going on here?" she asks, her voice quivering.

The teen leans forward with his hands folded. "Helen," he says softly, "I want you to listen very carefully." He waits. Helen nods. "I'm God," he says clearly. Helen sits back and remains that way for a while. Joan nervously threads her small arm through God's strong one. _Please don't blow him off, mom. Please don't blow him off._ Helen blows out long. Shakes her head, rubs her temples; reexamines the teens. Finally, she offers God her hand and he shakes it. "It's nice to meet you...God," Helen says with a slight smile. "I have to say that that form change was pretty neat." They chuckle. Joan sits with her lip sticking out in a pout, staring at God. He glances at her and smiles. "I know what you're thinking, Joan," he teases. "You've never asked me to change forms."

Joan rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Well," she says, "now I know, don't I?" She lays her head on his shoulder. He chuckles. "Oh, now you get it," he laughs. Joan laughs with him and sighs contentedly. Helen watches the scene before her with a matchmaker's eye. "I don't know if there's a way that this could happen," she ventures, "but... the two of you make a really cute couple." She chuckles. Joan almost jumps out of her skin. "Mom," she says, "you can't be serious! He's God!" She looks up at him. "Right?" He shakes his head. "Not necessarily. You have free will, Joan," he explains softly. He tilts his head closer to hers until the tips of their noses touch. She can feel the heat from his breath on her lips. God laughs. "You're too cute."

"Don't say that," she squeals and takes a seat next to her mom. "Mom, tell him not to say that."

"Joan," Helen says matter-of-factly, "You want me to tell God not to do something?" She laughs. "He's just playing with you, Joan."

"I wish he wouldn't." She casts a nervous glance at him.

"At any rate," God says as he stands up, sliding his and Joan's knapsacks over his shoulder, "We have AP Chemistry to get to, right Joan?" He winks and offers his hand. He pulls her up, then helps Helen up. "Let's go." They leave the lounge, Joan sandwiched between her mom and God. She liked that.

* * *

God meets Joan at her locker after 8th period. "Hey," he says, brushing his shoulder against hers. Joan turns around. "Hey, O Holy One," she retorts quietly. "Or Greg, as you're known around here." She steps back from her locker to let him get her backpack. "Did you pick that name," she asks.

"Who else could have," he replies.

Joan sniggers. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

They get more than a few curious stares as they walk side by side through the hallways. It makes Joan want to reminisce. "I used to hate running into you during school," she admits. "It made me feel like such a freak. I thought you were annoying and nosey and mean, and..." She pauses. "I'm not doing any wonders for your reputation, am I?"

God shakes his head. "No," he said, "but I'm used to by now; keep going."

"Right; well anyway, that's what I thought, but just this last day has changed the way I picture you entirely. You're not mean, you're just really involved, because..." She lets the last word trail off. "Why? Why are you so involved, so concerned...?"

"Because," God whispers, "I care about you? Because," – and here he stops and tilts Joan's head up with his forefinger – "Because I love you, Joan?" He notices her breathing is picking up some. "Come with me." He takes her into an empty classroom and gently pushes her into a seat.

He waits for Joan to calm down a bit. She obviously didn't know what to do about that – the love thing – right now. She'd been through the breakup of a lifetime, or so she thought, and wasn't quite ready to fall in love again so soon. But God had to keep pulling on her before she tossed the possibility of their having a relationship completely out of the window, never to come up again. Now was the time to speak clearly, but carefully.

Joan looks up, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she says. "I just... I don't know how to respond to that." She sniffs. God stoops in front of her and takes her hands; strokes her hair. "Joan," he says, "I want you to tell me what you're feeling. Be a little vulnerable." He smiles. "Depend on me."

He sits down next to her, arm around her shoulders, waiting patiently. Looking down at her face he can see that she's miserable; she needs to vent. He watches as she rubs her eyes. She hesitates before speaking. "I ran into Bonnie," she begins, "in the bathroom. We were the only two in there. I was checking my makeup and trying to ignore her. She kept glaring at me. She started accusing me of being vain and boring, and that it was no wonder Adam cheated on me with her. Apparently, he told her that he didn't want to wait to have sex. He said that they would do it once and that was supposed to be it, but... he kept coming back after that, over and over. The day before I found out about their thing, Bonnie found out she was pregnant. Adam knew about it, and he completely ignored her, called her a freak. Then she started saying all this crap about Adam saying that he still loved me _after_ they'd slept together, and that's when I told her to shut up. I didn't want to hear anymore of those lies.

"What hurts the most is the fact that I trusted Adam, you know? I loved him; he had my heart when he slept with Bonnie. It makes absolutely no sense, and now..." She buries her face in her hands.

"It still hurts. After cleaning my room, and cleaning out my heart, or thinking that I did... after all of that. It still hurts."

God pulls her close, allowing her to sob quietly into his chest. "Joan," he says, "I want you to listen to me; I'm not Adam." He brushes the wet hair from her face and wipes her eyes with his sleeve. "I'm not Kevin or Luke or your dad; I'm Me. I've loved you since before time began and I love you still now; I always will. I would never hurt you. I can't hurt; only love. That's all and everything I feel for you." He kisses her cheek softly. "You can trust me, Joan." He holds her to his chest strokes her hair. "Do you trust me," he asks gently.

"...I believe in you," she says after a moment.

"But Joan," he asks, "do you trust me?"

She looks into his eyes. They're filled with tears. "I don't know," she whispers desolately. God looks away, pained. He stays silent for a while.

Joan wants to take it back; the look on his face is too much to take in. She'd thought Adam had broken her heart; just a glance into those sorrowful brown eyes made her shudder. It was too much to take. "It's okay," he says after a few minutes. They both stand up. "That's what this week is about." He leads her in the direction of the art room.

"I thought this was about bonding," Joan says.

"Bonding and trust go hand-in-hand, Joan." He slips his hand into hers. "Kind of like you and I."

* * *

"Helen, I think you're over exaggerating."

"Dad has a point mom; you tend to do that when you're excited. There are plenty of girls in this school that may remind you of Joan. That doesn't mean you actually saw her."

Helen Girardi stamps her foot. She can't believe this. Not only does her husband think she's cracking, but neither does her eldest son Kevin. "I saw Joan this morning," she says adamantly. " And at lunch. I spoke with her. She's here."

"Honey," Will says, "I'm worried about you."

"Why is it always the person who's in the right that everyone labels insane," she asks, laughing ruefully.

"Who's insane?"

They all three turn to see who the voice belongs to; it's Joan, holding hands with a Gothic young man. Will and Kevin's jaws almost hit the floor; for a few seconds, they're struck completely dumb. Joan walks over to her dad and hugs him, then Kevin, then her mom. "Sorry about the scare," she tells them. "I forgot I had to meet up with a friend."

"So you're the friend," Will says in his cop voice, looking at the boy with jet black hair and lip liner and piercings. He was wearing mesh; Will didn't like mesh. The kid holds out his hand. "Gregory Daniels," he says, flashing a smile. "People call me Greg for short. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Girardi."

Will takes his hand and shakes it. "The pleasure is mine," he says.

Once he breaks the ice, they all start talking like old friends.

Before long, half an hour has passed and it's time to leave. Kevin and "Greg" help Mrs. Girardi take some canvases to her car. Will and Joan take their time walking down the hallway. "You gave us a scare yesterday, Joan. You know that, don't you?" He ruffles her hair to show that there aren't any hard feelings.

"Yeah dad, I know. And I'm sorry. But it's...kind of hard to say 'no' to Greg."

"You can say no to anyone, honey. You have that choice."

"So he says, but he's also very... influential when he has to be." She scoffs. "As a matter of fact, he's always influential, considering who he is and what he does..." she adds under her breath. Will eyes her skeptically. "Joan, as a concerned parent I think I have the right to know if you and Greg are…involved in an… adult relationship."

"Oh, no dad; you think he - and I - are having sex? That's gross! No, that will never happen between us, I promise."

"I'm holding you to it," he says. "If I ever find out that he's hurt you in any way, I'll-"

"He can't hurt me," she explains. "It's not his nature."

"You know," Will says, "you're acting very unlike you, and I don't know why. Is there something you want to tell me about your new friend?"

"Only that I have to stay at his house for a week," Joan mumbles.

"You have to what?"

"We're bonding, dad. This whole week is about...learning to trust him, and trust, you know, comes with bonding. We're _meshing_." She threads her fingers to illustrate.

Will, not wanting to put his foot down for some reason, nods his understanding. "While I don't entirely understand why it has to be with him, or this particular week - or any time for that matter, I'll allow you to stay."

"Thanks dad."

"We'll drop you off at his house and meet his parents."

Joan stiffens. "No," she says quickly, "You can't." She laughs nervously. "I mean you can't because...his parents are hardly ever home; they travel for like, most of the year. And they just happen to be gone for the next few months so-"

Her dad stops walking mid-stride. "Wait a minute," he says slowly. "You expect me to let you stay at some boy's house, who I've just met, for a week without parental supervision of any kind?"

Joan shuffles on the balls of her feet. "Dad, it's not as bad as you make it sound; he's actually very responsible for someone his age, and-"

"And nothing; your mother and I haven't raised you to keep things hidden from us, Joan. For the last two semesters of school you've been acting very strange, but this is the strangest yet." He stares at her. "What is going on? I want you to talk to me."

"Dad, if I tell you why I'm doing all of this stuff, you won't believe me." She glances at her shoes. "That's the truth."

"Try me, honey. I want to know what goes on in your life. I want to know everything, starting with why you need to bond with this kid."

Joan stares down the hallway in despair. _Where's God when you really needed him? _She crosses her arms and breathes out slowly.

If her mom knew, so should her dad; it was simple logic. So why was her gut saying _don't do it_? _Now would be a great time for you to show up. I'm running out of ideas._

"Well," Will says, "start talking."

"You're not going to want to hear this..."

"What?"

Joan shushes him. She heard footsteps in the adjacent hallway. _This is just great,_ she thinks. _Maybe he'll actually do a miracle. _Right before her eyes the greatest miracle of all saunters down the hallway; Greg catches up with Joan and her dad in less than a minute. "Sorry I left you here," he says to them both. "Mr. Girardi, Mrs. Girardi is waiting for you in the car. She'll drop you off at the precinct."

Will Girardi takes a step back to examine the scene before him; on his right his daughter, who had been a bundle of nerves just seconds before, is now hiding a subtle grin directed at the young man on his left: Gregory Daniels, his daughter's new friend of questionable taste as far as appearances go, was obviously very considerate of Joan; Will could see it in his eyes. There was something about the kid's eyes that threw Will for a loop. He couldn't look at them for too long for fear of falling into a trance – and Will wasn't the type of person to fall for that stuff easily.

"Mr. Girardi," he hears Greg say, "I know you just met me, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd let Joan stay with me, just for one week. I promise you, I'll take care of her as if she were my own daughter."

Will didn't feel his mouth move or even remember thinking that he'd let Joan go with Greg; but he must have said something- along the lines of, 'Of course I'll let Joan stay with you' - because he looked down the hall just as they turned the corner. Joan says good-bye and thank you; Greg does the same. And Will Girardi is dumbfounded for the rest of the day.

_(A/N: I'd originally planned to have Joan and God spending lots of time together in the house (alone but together) while the Girardi's and friends were looking for her. But it was just too much work to have to write all of those stressful emotions, and if you can fake stress then you can get stressed, and I don't like stress. So, anyway, thanks for sitting through this plot twist with me. BTW, things are starting to get warmer between God and Joan in this chapter; I plan on amping it up in the next few chapters. 3 Domou Arigatou!) _

_(A/Nx2: I'm not sure if I've said it, but to those of you who have added this to your favorite story alerts, thank you so much! It means more than you know to me. I'd love to hear from you, either through reviews or you can message me, and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I was confused because the third chapter I had previously uploaded didn't match the tense of the last two...turns out I wasu ploading from the wrong document. . But I've fixed that problem. So, once again, arigatou gozaimasu, and let me know what you think so far!_

_Kisses,_

_Victorian Amour.)_


	4. The Simple Truth

_Chapter 4: The Simple Truth_

The air in Arcadia and the air around God's house felt like they belonged to two distinctly different atmospheres. In Arcadia it was early fall: leaves were beginning to change color, temperatures rose during the day then fell at night, and the city air was full of smog. It was the change of seasons. But in the world that lay beyond Joan's world, it was always spring. The grass was always green; there were temperate spring breezes during the day and cool, refreshing winds from the lake at night. The air was clear. Flowers of many different colors dotted the landscape far beyond where the house sat nestled amongst the trees. It was paradise, the perfect get-away.

Joan loved all of this simple beauty compared to the gaudiness of her actual home; however, there was one room in the house that she favored above the rest, and that was the sunset room. It only stood a few doors down from her own bedroom and that second evening in the house she decided to have a look at it.

She expects to walk into a huge room with wooden floors surrounded by glass panels to let the light in; instead, she finds a nice, still rather large room with deep purple carpet, a sofa and loveseat set, a coffee table decked out with a porcelain tea set and sterling silver utensils, a dinette set and a chez lounge, along with several filled bookcases. Just like the rest of the house, this room smells like flowers. Joan concludes that it must be one of God's favorite smells.

She takes her shoes off outside the door then steps in quietly, hoping not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere. Slowly, she walks the entire area of the room, examining each knick-knack and piece of furniture as if it were a rare jewel and, feeling satisfied, she sits down in the loveseat facing the lake. Thinking back, today should have been the second worst day of her life – Kevin's accident ranked as the first – especially considering the whole Bonnie and Adam thing, but it hadn't been. Maybe that was why God wanted to go with her: he knew what was going to happen and he wanted to be there for her.

As the sun began to set, the lake's surface turned from a pure blue to orange, to red, and finally to indigo as the moon took sun's place in the sky. Joan sits there for hours watching the change, not really thinking about anything, but enjoying herself nonetheless. It was so easy to relax in that room. Joan couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so well rested. It had been a while, that was for sure, because of all this Adam drama. But that wasn't important right now; the room was warm and the lake was so pretty... she curls up on the cushion and drifts off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Meanwhile, Adam is fuming in the garage. He'd tried to alleviate his anger by sitting quiet for half an hour but that hadn't helped at all. As he sat there he kept getting images in his mind: Joan getting on the bus to go to school, working at the bookstore, closing the bookstore and heading home... Joan, whom he loved still, running into Greg's arms with a smile on her face, hugging him, kissing him... it was too much to handle.

Adam had been seriously pissed off when Bonnie had approached him after Mrs. Girardi's art class.

"I told her," she'd said. Adam had stared at her, hoping she didn't mean what he thought she meant. "You told who...what," he replied.

"Joan," Bonnie said. "I told her about our baby."

Adam stood there, stunned. He blinked and tried to get the rest of his body to follow suit. Instead all that moved was his mouth. "Bonnie..." he sighed, "How could you?" She'd stared at him then; glared at him, really, as if she knew she owned a part of him that was weak and she liked it. She smiled... if an evil smirk can be called a smile. "I just thought it'd be for the best," she said and walked away.

He couldn't shake that look from his face. That smile... it sent a chill of fright down his spine. Recalling it to memory took nothing but when it surfaced, he panicked. And he knew that Bonnie was right: whether he wanted her to or not, she did own him. She'd slept with him; she was going to have his baby. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. _I wish I'd waited for Jane. I shouldn't have wanted it so badly... _it was too late to change now; the ripples were already in motion. _Oh god..._

* * *

God sets Joan on her own bed and, after a few minutes, decides to crawl in next to her. The blankets are cozy and warm in the cool room. Joan is warm, too. _It's been thousands of years since I've been this close to a human_. He was still Greg in appearance; he'd considered changing but decided against it because he wanted to see Joan's reaction when she woke up. Maybe he'd join her; maybe he'd rest. He snuggles down in the blankets and closes his eyes, constantly alert, yet resting.

When she wakes up not much time had passed; the moon is higher in the sky than it had been, and it was darker. Joan realizes two more things: the first is that she's back in her room, in her bed under the covers. The second: someone is lying next to her. She doesn't have to look to know who it is. She turns over and snuggles close enough to feel his breath against her forehead.

"I thought God didn't sleep," she says in a hushed voice. She watches him stir.

"Well technically," he says, "I'm not sleeping; I'm resting. I don't need to sleep." Joan opens her mouth to ask why and God covers it with his hand. "Don't," he says. "I don't need to sleep," he says, repeating each word distinctly. He stretches. "But you do. I'll leave." He starts to throw the covers back on his side when Joan tugs on his pajama top.

"Don't leave," she breathes, curling up next to him again. "I don't want to be alone."

God hasn't moved yet. What would the safest course of action be right now? He looks at her; she isn't lusting, just tired and in need of a friend. She isn't used to being in a house with just herself and another person: Joan needs a companion, especially considering all that she'd been through in the last five days. Still, if he could get away... "You're not alone," he tells her.

"I know that," she says, "but...please..." She yawns. "Stay with me, just for tonight."

He looks at her not wanting to leave. He knew that what Joan was feeling was the most innocent form of love, like a lost child longing for her mother. Taking that into mind he complies, paying attention to her breathing as she falls into a deep sleep. He brushes a loose strand of hair from her face. "My Joan," he whispers. "You don't have a clue..." He places an arm around her, holding her close, waiting for the sun to rise.

* * *

Meanwhile, Grace Polk is having a hard time sleeping. She tosses and turns for two hours before finally sitting up and throwing the covers off. Something just wasn't right about...everything. She steps into her slippers and pads downstairs into the kitchen. The last two days had thrown her for a loop; first Joan gets dragged off by some stalker after school and everyone's in a panic, and the next day she shows up on some creep's arm like nothing happened. Was she delusional; had she imagined it? _No, and no,_. _If anyone's lost it, it's Girardi. Who sees people that obviously aren't there? _She pulls out a bottle of root beer and pops the cap off; chugs it, wipes her mouth and leans against the counter. She would never admit her real reason for worrying, and it wasn't Luke. It was Joan.

Unbeknownst to anyone but herself, Grace was actually fond of Joan. It was fun to have a normal girl friend that didn't obsess about boys and makeup and dating... instead Joan obsessed about benevolence and morals and human behavior and, as of late, religion; specifically God. Now, everything was God this and God that, God, God, God. It was annoying as crap... but secretly, Grace was starting to get interested. What does God think about? Does he have friends? Is he mean, kind, righteous, just, fair, wrathful, what? Does he really make bad things happen? Can he do that if he really is a good, loving God like the Christians and Catholics and Jews say he is?

Grace wonders about all of this in her heart.

And will never speak a word about it to another soul.

* * *

Joan is outside in her pajamas. The moon and stars glitter in the night sky; the air is fresh and cool; a pleasant wind caresses her cheeks and ruffles her hair. Water laps at her slippers. She looks down; she's standing on a lake. Her shoes are sopping wet so she takes them off, wrings them out and flings them back to shore. She turns around to see God in his corduroy jacket, sitting crossed-legged on a big lily pad. He pats the spot next to him. "Come have a seat, Joan." He smiles. Joan crosses the surface like she would a 6 foot tall balance beam, hoping that she won't sink and drown; knowing that if she does God will catch her. She makes it to the lily pad and sits next to him. He points at the surface.

"There are tadpoles in this lake." He leans back on his hands. "I love those little things." Joan looks at the dark, smooth surface. Suddenly Joan can see beneath the water. There had to be millions and millions of tadpoles swimming around down there. Joan frowns. "What makes them so appealing," she asks.

"They trust me," he replies. "They believe me when I tell them that one day they'll walk on land. They don't bicker and gripe about it if it takes too long. Instead, they wait for their legs to grow out, and when they do they leave the water in a frolic, grateful for what I've done. I'm also pretty fond of flowers."

"Really."

"Yeah; haven't you ever heard? "'Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I say to you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.'" He looks at her and smiles. "'If then God so clothes the grass which today is in the field and tomorrow is thrown into the oven... how much more _you, _O you of little faith?'"

"Flowers...have faith?"

"No, they don't have that kind of capacity for free will. They simply know."

"So for people...faith is only half of the equation; it won't work unless we...what?"

God chuckles. "Joan, faith without works is dead. That's true, but here's what most people miss: you don't really have faith unless you believe in your heart that I am who I say I am: good, kind, benevolent, just, and above all else, loving."

Joan thinks about that for a few seconds. "If you love us so much," she says, "why'd you give us free will? We'd all be like, Christian robots or something, serving you. You'd like that, right?"

God stares at her, not angry but temperate. "Does that sound like love to you, Joan?" She gets quiet. "Would you really enjoy being a robot?" His face is stern and wise; _older _comes to mind. Joan shudders. _This is almost as bad as seeing him upset. _

"I'm a father," he says, "not a dictator. I gave you free will so that you could choose to love me; that's how it works. I'm a gentleman: I don't force myself on you _because _I love you. I give you evidence that I'm around; you just don't pay attention. You see, I'm not so desperate for relationship to use force to get it. I reveal myself bit by bit until you decide to come to me. That's how I work." He turns his focus to the lake. "Without free will you wouldn't have real relationships, with other people or with me. You wouldn't have the _ability _to love. You would exist only for my entertainment and that's not what I want.

"I long for every individual human to love me, to accept the fact that I died for them, rose again three days later and sat at my father's right hand and waited like I wait now for all men to be drawn to me. I endured pain you could never imagine in a million years. I did it all for you..." A tear rolls down his cheek. "I did it for you, Joan... because I love you." He takes her face in his hands and kisses her forehead.

The image melts away and Joan wakes up, still in bed.

Her feet are wet.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5: Awkward_

Sunlight streams in through the window, illuminating the green canopy that hides Joan from the rest of that world. She slowly opens her eyes to a bronzed neck and collarbone. "Oh my god!" She leaps back in surprise, and, once she gathers herself, looks up into a pair of warm, brown eyes. "Oh," she sighs, "It's just you."

God looks at her steadily. "A 'good morning' would've been nice, too. You know, since you asked me to stay." He smiles and sits up. "I didn't mean to scare you, Joan."

"Well," she says, "You did a _great_ job." God leans forward and brushes the hair from her eyes. "Sarcasm doesn't suit your pretty face." He bites back a laugh as Joan flushes beet red and looks the other way. "It's too early," she complains. "Flirt later." God laughs again. "I don't flirt, Joan," he says. "I tell the whole truth."

"In a flirtatious way," she counters.

"Your brain is creating 'feelings' where there are none."

"Oh, sure; is it my _brain _that's kissing my cheek right now," Joan asks matter-of-factly.

God pulls back. "No," he says calmly, "that's me. And no, it's not lust; it's love. Deal with it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Joan is frazzled. It was too early to talk about this now. She has school in an hour, she…

"Joan?"

She rolls her eyes and falls back into the mattress. "Because...because...I..." she stutters.

"Because you...what?"

Joan turns away, blushing. "Because," she mumbles, "I think I love you." She turns her head away. God crosses his legs, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Continue," he says. "You need to talk, so talk."

_How can I, _she wonders. _This is wrong. I love God. This is wrong. Or is it right? I'm confused!_

"Nothing is confusing, Joan," she hears him say past the whirlwind of her thoughts. "You're just not sure how to explain what you're feeling, and you're afraid that what you feel is wrong. But it's not. I love you Joan, and I made you to love me." He reaches over and caresses her cheek, looking straight into her eyes. She raises her eyes to meet his. Slowly, very slowly, God leans closer and closer until his lips touch hers ever so lightly.

Then…

Joan feels a bolt of electricity run through her entire body, but she fights it and draws closer to him. A light smacks her behind her retinas, a light that she can see, feel, and taste all at once. She presses a bit harder against his mouth, wanting that light again. She's rewarded with a dull buzz behind her skull; pleasure.

It's calming and exciting and serious all at once. It runs through her veins like a current, each wave followed by another, shaking Joan to the core of her being. As they pull apart, she thinks she understands what it feels like to be taken off of oxygen: regular air was a counterfeit, like lust was a counterfeit of this real, pure, honest-to-God love that she'd just felt; it made no sense.

Joan pulls back, elated and tired all at once, reveling in the experience. "Will that happen every time," she asks breathless. He strokes her hair back from her damp cheeks and said, "Not every time; no. There's a limit to what you can experience, Joan."

"Oh...okay." She sits back. "Is this one of those 'do unto me' moments?"

God chuckles. "Not really...unless you want to make it one of those."

"I can...do that?"

He jumps off the bed. "Get dressed, we're leaving soon."

School that day goes by in a daze. Joan feels like she's wrapped tight in a fuzzy, warm blanket. _He's… amazing. _Two years ago she never would've thought she'd meet God, let alone have a relationship with him. Looking at this practically…well, it was highly impractical. Highly. But then, what about her life lately _hadn't _seemed highly impractical?

There's a skip in her step as she saunters to her locker. Maybe he'd be waiting there for her. They'd lock eyes and she'd take his hand, and they'd walk to AP Chemistry together…. Was that _him _standing at her locker? It shouldn't be. It couldn't be. Joan's stomach turns inside out.

"Hey Jane."

Those eyes. They seem so soft, so sad… She swallows.

"My name is Joan, Adam," she says without returning his gaze. "Excuse me."

Adam stepped back while Joan noisily stuffs her locker. If God knew she was angry it didn't matter if anyone else knew.

_I'm more than angry; I'm _livid.

She slams her locker shut and walks in the opposite direction, looking over her shoulder every few seconds. "Adam, stop stalking me."

"I'm not stalking, Jane."

_Oh, God; listen to him, trying to sound apologetic. _"Then what are you doing," she seethes.

"I just want to talk to you…"

_Be reasonable. _She knows God isn't really saying that; it's just her thoughts sounding like him because she knows if he says it, she'll do it.

_Hear him out._

She's so focused on ignoring her conscience that she forgets to move; for several long seconds she stands in the hallway, absolutely motionless. _Adam probably thinks I'm snubbing him_; she turns around just as he leaves. She speaks in a very thin voice. "What do you want to say?"

He'd prepared for this a week ago. Over and over he'd rehearsed the scene in his mind: how she'd act, what he would say, how she'd respond. If things go well, they'll be together again before the day's end. But judging by the lump in his throat, and the way Joan has her arms crossed in defiance, Adam can tell this won't go as smoothly as planned.

"I'm waiting," she says, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. It's not like she's angry at Adam - she should be and she had been, but she isn't any more thanks to God's company. But still, she feels a little aggravated at him. Is it really that hard for him to leave her alone? _I guess I'll just let him talk._

"Jane," he says, trying to control the sudden tremor in his voice, "I want to apologize."

"Adam, if this is about what you did with Bonnie, I really don't want to…"

"It is and it isn't." He looks down at his feet for a few seconds before continuing. "I want you to know that…. even though Bonnie and I were - you know - I didn't want you to find out. I didn't want to hurt you. I was attracted to her but I didn't love her like I love you, Jane. So when you found out at mock trial and attacked me - which I deserved - I broke down. I've never felt so guilty before in my life. And trust me, if I had known the Bonnie was pregnant then, I would've told you. But you know, she eventually did tell me and I…. I couldn't bring myself to give you more bad news. I asked her not to tell you, but that girl… when she gets jealous she can be vicious. I guess I pushed her buttons the wrong way."

"Yea," Joan says, "You seem to be doing that a lot lately"

"So in spite of what I asked her to do she went and told you, and…. I'm sorry, Jane. I'm so sorry." His voice cracks. "I tried to make things right but they just fell apart and now… you're hurt and it's all my fault."

Joan brushes a lone tear from her eye. "Adam," she says, "I never even considered your feelings about all of this. I kept seeing you as the bad guy. But in your own - twisted - way… you've been protecting me. So I guess… I should say 'Thanks'."

Minutes pass by without a word from either of them. Adam hesitates before saying…

"Jane… will you give me another chance?"

"Adam," Joan sighs, "Even though you've explained everything and apologized, I just…. I can't do that."

"Because of Greg," Adam says. "But you just met him."

Joan just shrugs and smiles. "He's a good guy. Kind of snippy, but an overall nice guy to know." She kicks the pavement. "Adam, I'm not sorry that I can't take you back, but I will forgive you."

Adam stares at the clouds as they drift by. "You love the guy," he says to Joan, distraught. Joan hugs herself as a the wind blows past, chilling her skin. "Yea, well, he got to me first. He cares about you, too," she says, placing a hand on Adam's shoulder before leaving.

Classes have ended and the entire student body breathes a sigh of relief. God joins Joan at her locker; she is acutely aware of the glances thrown their way as they share a hug before walking off together. As they leave the grounds, she finds herself brushing against his shoulder, or letting the back of her hand touch his for a few moments. When she did this he would smile knowingly, a twinkle in his eye, and she knew she'd made him happy.

"Good job," he says as they step into the other world. "Adam really needed to hear that from you."

Joan sighs inwardly. "It's not like I enjoyed doing it," she says, "But I felt that I had to. He's not misinterpreting what I said…is he?"

"You said what you meant, Joan; Adam knows by now when you're serious." He gives her a look when she grunts. "He's hurting right now, Joan. He's confused. Your forgiving him has helped in his healing process." He stops and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Thanks, for nothing," she sighs loudly. "Now I get to have the same kind of fun with Bonnie the sleaze."

"The rude comment aside, I'm looking forward to that. I'm proud of your progress, Joan."

"I thought you didn't play favorites," she says, trying to veer off subject.

"I don't," God says, going along with it. He shrugs. "I'm just fond of you, Joan Girardi."

"And…every other human in the world. Right?"

"Yes," he says, nodding slowly, "I'm fond of you all. You each pull on my heart in very unique ways. I don't have to have a favorite, because there's no competition."

Joan chews her bottom lip in thought. "I never saw it like that," she says.

"Every father feels that way about their children. And," he says, resuming his gait, "Being the Great Father-"

"They get that ability from you."

"Exactly. You learn fast."

Joan shrugs. "I have a good teacher," she says lightly before skipping ahead. God waits until she's a good distance away, then starts to run after her. Several minutes later they're circling the front lawn, laughter spilling from their mouths like water gurgling in a fountain. Joan rolls onto her back; God onto his stomach beside her, watching placidly as she calms.

As they lay there in the soft light of the sun, a quiet descends - a simple stillness that wraps around them. Joan takes a deep breath, savoring the sweet scent in the air. "Is it always like this here," she asks in a whisper. God rolls to his right side, looking at her eye-to-eye. "Would you like to stay here, Joan," he asks after a pause.

"Per…permanently," Joan asks, the word effortlessly falling from her mouth. "Permanently," she says again, hoping against hope that he'll reply. Instead, he looks at her for a few seconds before rolling onto his back. He stays that way for a long time. Wind blows through the treetops, mockingbirds are singing their haunting welcome to evening, and Joan waits for something, for him to say anything at all. Impatient, she stands and brushes grass and dirt from the seat of her pants.

"Joan."

She looks down at him. His eyes are shut; his hands are behind his head, cushioning it from the hard turf. Fading sunlight bounces off the lip ring he's wearing. Joan wonders what it would be like to play with it…

_Get a hold of yourself, Joan. Remember who he is - the divine "it"._

"Yea," she asks, suddenly shuffling her feet.

"I asked you if you want to stay."

"…Yea. I heard you."

"Do you want to know why?" He opens his eyes and looks at her. For once, Joan doesn't want the answer to her question.

"I… I want some ice cream, do you want any?"

God waves towards the house dismissively. "There's mint chocolate chip in the fridge, but it's pretty hard."

She's gone before he finishes his sentence.

"Oh well…" he sighs, and returns to his original position, doing everything God does.

"Stupid spoon…" Joan tries in vain to break through the gallon mass of solidified ice cream. Her right hand, restored to full use earlier in the day, is tired from the strain it's undergone. Defeated, she drops her right arm. She starts to whine, then stops; she's not a kindergartner. God walks in, seeing her pout. He gives her an "I tried to tell you," look. Joan just hangs her head and sighs.

"Don't say anything; I should have listened." She slides to the floor, expecting him to join her, which he doesn't. Instead, he stands there with his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly, reminding Joan of her own father.

"This….isn't about my hand, is it?"

"You should be taking better care of it. But no, it's not." He looks at her, waiting.

"It's about the choices I make with free will. Whenever you tell me to do something, most of the time -all of the time, really- it's for my benefit. Like if I hadn't ran away like a scared little kid I wouldn't be sitting here feeling…guilty." She says the last word with a disgusted look on her face.

God nods. "Keep going."

"The same thing goes for your suggestions. If I would just listen to you about every single one of them, there would be more good ripples…"

"Endless godly occurrences that would point people to me. Choosing to obey is the key to everything that happens in life, Joan. Never forget that."

She sighs. "I won't."

"Good." She watches as God walks away. She knows the real reason she rushed in here, and it wasn't because of ice cream. How could she have ran from him like that? It's not like he'd asked her to do something life threatening; he'd just asked her to stay. That…scares her. On the one hand, if she stays, who's to say she'll get to go home again, or see her family? On the other hand, she enjoys spending time with him more than anyone. But her family and friends rank a very close second in her life. She can't just abandon them.

Joan eyes the carton again, takes up the spoon and attacks it with a determined ferocity. Triumphant, she shoves the spoonful in her mouth. "Hah! Stupid ice cream…."


End file.
